


One Bright Thing

by Oshun



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Laurent's POV, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, references to all the other expected characters, the famous Chapter 19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9554921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: A re-working in Laurent’s point of view of the famous Chapter 19 of Prince’s Gambit. The italicized lines are lifted directly from the original text.Spiced_Wine requested this story. She is such a lovely writer and generous reader that I would hope to have given her something that she can enjoy. Thank you so much, dear friend, for trusting me with your request!Thank you also to my Beta, the indomitable IgnobleBard, for wading through my turgid prose.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spiced_Wine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiced_Wine/gifts).



_Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret what they had done:_  
last night had been bright in a way that resisted tarnishing.  
—C. S. Pacat, _Prince's Gambit_.

o0o0o0o

 _It was so close to his own thoughts—that_ everything  
he _knew was gone, but that this was here,_  
_in its place, this one bright thing._  
—C. S. Pacat, _The Summer Palace_.

o0o0o0o

The spilled wine, scattered fruit and broken plates were a mortifying reminder of his complete loss of self-control. Sometimes Laurent felt as though only his rage anchored him while he teetered on the edge of despair.  
  
By the time his anger had faded to the point where he could finally consider his behavior, he could have almost laughed or wept at his own predictable stupidity. But the situation was grim and he was too exhausted to waste energy on either. He had actually said to Aimeric in front of poor, ruined Jord, “ _My uncle is discriminating. Not like Jord who’ll take a middle-aged man’s sloppy seconds and treat it like it’s worth something_.” Talk about self-hatred coupled with a vicious tongue! What might have sounded like hatred and disdain for Aimeric actually carried a larger measure of disgust with himself. But Damen would not be likely to see that. More probably, he would see it as another example of the brat prince’s shortcomings.  
  
Well, Laurent had to admit that he recognized and had been working to conquer the self-hatred. To be a king, he would need more sincere self-respect and not simply greater control. He had improved recently and Damen had played a part in that. He was not, however, ready to begin to feel remorse about how he had spoken to Aimeric yet. A traitor was a traitor and Aimeric was old enough to make choices. Laurent had been forced to make deplorable accommodations when he was years younger than him. He was still fighting against the consequences of his mistakes. If he ever survived this and became king, he would bring about a sea change of attitudes and functioning in Vere.  
  
Laurent wished that he could make people listen the way he did when he erupted into those uncontrollable rages without the loss of self-control. Everyone had been cowering or scuttling out of his way in the aftermath of this last outburst. Damen, a natural leader, as well as one by training, had instantly yanked Laurent back from further disaster, and then refocused his own energy on issuing orders and recouping lost discipline.  
  
Now Damen was venting his own anger with half of the castle because of the manner in which Laurent had gone off the deep end. But Damen had greater self-control and a far better sense of what was needed at that exact moment. Damen had instantly recognized that his responsibility lay not simply in restoring order but in protecting Laurent. The Akielon slave wasn’t afraid of Laurent, had not been for quite a while. He was occasionally, as in this instance, afraid _for_ him. He tried to mitigate the damage when Laurent went berserk and did the wrong thing, or intervene and isolate him, as he had done that night, giving him the time to regain his reason.  
  
Since leaving Arles, they had fallen into the habit of schooling one another, each depending upon the other for strength and support. Laurent tried to teach Damen to think faster, trust more slowly, and to expect the devious complications that the Regent had woven into his all of his plans, the ways in which his uncle would double- and triple-cross his so-called allies and supposed loved ones.  
  
Laurent was keenly aware of how unfortunate for him it was—might be fucking tragic actually—that he and the Akielon slave could not continue to work together. He thought and rejected the idea that their shared enemies—the pretenders and usurpers of their thrones—might serve to make them allies. But this state of affairs did necessarily breed friendship. It was a pretty dream though. They had so much they could give one another. Yet, Damen remained the adversary who killed his brother, the captive Laurent had ordered lashed nearly to death.  
  
Was it better or worse to begin to think of him as Damianos, heir of Theomedes, the rightful King of Akielos? When dawn came and he rode off, Laurent believed Damen might have a fighting chance to right that wrong and re-take his kingdom.  Laurent wanted with all his heart to give him that chance. He snorted under his breath, thinking how he personally wanted it for Damen, although it served the greater good also. Akielos restored to Damen would be better for everyone, assuming they would still be able to communicate, if Laurent survived his uncle’s murderous treachery.  
  
He wondered if Damen could ever overlook the ugly parts, if he would only remember the horrors of his early days in Arles or the last few weeks of working together, of learning from one another. He hoped by permitting Damen to leave without trying to stop him, he could gain a future ally. He could not help but recall an old Veretian adage that said, “The kindness of a foe is less palatable than the treachery of friend.” Yet Damen’s code of behavior was based upon a different one than that of the Regent of Vere and certainly that of his own murderous, usurping half-brother. Damen was an honorable man.  
  
In another place, another world, they could have been invincible together; they could have made history. Well, trying not to care whether his actions were more self-serving or sentimental, Laurent self-indulgently intended to take advantage of the fact that Damen was still his for those next several hours. He wondered how he would respond to Damen roused and ready, pressing against him, knowing that this time they would not be stopped.  
  
He knew Damen found him attractive, to an almost excruciating degree. Damen was no good at deception; Laurent could see the desire in his eyes, the feelings wafting off him in a miasma of fondness and physical yearning. Still Damen managed to maintain outward control. Laurent had at one time thought that it would be dangerous to allow as much physical closeness as he had grown to tolerate from his prisoner. The element of danger had been intoxicating to him in those early days. Later, of course, he learned that he could trust Damen with his life, although he was not entirely sure he could trust him with his heart. Damen loved easily, whereas trust and affection were hard for Laurent.  
  
Over the past short weeks, Laurent had passed far beyond underestimating either Damen’s capacity or intelligence. The time had come, he told himself, to relinquish his invaluable assistance, to let Damen go, to say good-bye. If there could ever be a way that they might be able to unite against their common enemies, it could only be under a totally different set of circumstances, a completely shifted and altered the balance of power. That would be hard won, if it could be won at all.  
  
Laurent thought ruefully that going forward they had different goals. Damen had a kingship to regain, a country to unite against a usurper. He himself needed to stay alive until he came of age—just a few short months, but it seemed like forever. The chasm between the present and their near future yawned unbridgeable before him. He needed to be able to think clearly. Damen understood that.  
  
He heard Damen’s voice in the hallway, barking orders at first and then gradually softening into his usual tone of calm authority, as he cleared out the entire south-tower area.  
  
“ _I want this whole section kept clear. And Guymar?_ ”  
  
“ _Yes, Captain?_ ”  
  
“ _This time, I want it actually kept clear. I don’t care who is about to get molested. No one is to come here. Is that understood?_ ”  
  
Laurent blushed a little, smiling to himself, thinking of how attractive he found Damen’s manner of command. When Damen told him to “ _Calm down_ ,” he actually had shut up. Or he thought he remembered doing so—well, eventually at least. Laurent often didn’t close his arrogant rattling trap even when the Regent was threatening him with things too hideous to acknowledge, but which were clearly understood between them. But for Damen, he stopped talking and tried to breathe, pushing down the jagged edge of near hysterical anger.  
  
Then he remembered he _had_ talked back to Daman earlier. He’d said, “ _You, with your barbaric attitudes, your brutish, domineering arrogance, are always right_.” That _was_ funny—what a brat he was. Damen had the patience of an anchorite with him or perhaps simply the discipline of a soldier; one thing was certain, it had nothing of the obedience of the slave about it.  
  
Damen functioned as a captain who asked nothing of his soldiers that he would not do or had not already done himself. He had studied military tactics and strategies. He taught Laurent what he could in their short time together as well. He would have been a good and wise king—still could be, Laurent hoped with all of his heart, while inwardly chastising himself for being a childish romantic.  
  
Damen’s mastery of the Veretian tongue was above reproach, its grammar and syntax near perfect. The clue that it was not his native tongue was less the presence of an accent but more an almost indefinable variation in cadence, charming even to Laurent’s critical ear. Of course, Damen had mastered the tongue of his closest, most important neighbor/rival. Damen had been raised from birth to be the ruler of the country bordering Vere. Their adjoining territories had been disputed down through long ages of their recorded past with the origins of those disputes long lost. Meanwhile, despite his penchant for scholarship and history, Laurent had but learned to read basic Akielon texts. His practice in speaking his opponent’s tongue had been minimal. Well, he was learning now. Better late than never.  
  
But this game of playing catch-up was getting old. He cursed himself for not comprehending sooner that his uncle had never intended for him to rule. As he had begun to absorb how incomplete his schooling had been, he moved quickly to try to rectify its shortcomings. After his brother’s death, he had been indulged as a noble with bookish tastes, a youth with equestrian talent, instead of being groomed as a monarch, commander-in-chief, and the future head of their beleaguered country’s diplomatic forces.  
  
His uncle the Regent was a clever and ambitious man, but not nearly as intelligent as he thought he was. Laurent was still grieving and damaged but had, after a stumble, harnessed a strong self-preservation instinct, when the Regent threw Damianos the prince-killer into his volatile nephew’s path. He supposed his uncle had thought it might be entertaining to watch the two of them destroy one another. Little did he guess that he might be giving them the only weapon that they could use to save themselves and their respective countries. The Regent’s misstep had gifted them a couple of months thus far and come close to entirely altering the parameters of the contest. Damen was close to the border of Akielos and freedom. While Laurent hadn’t saved himself yet, he had forced the Regent to act earlier than he had intended and thwarted his plans as well. His uncle would start to make mistakes—he already had. He was accustomed to underestimating his nephew, but Laurent had changed.  
  
Young and wretched, so tired of being alone, Laurent had also grown exhausted of dancing always to someone else’s tune. He wanted this night for himself and for Damen also. But he wanted it on his own terms. Damen could be such a force of nature. He was considerate and decent, would take nothing that Laurent did not offer, would never coerce, but he was physically powerful.  
  
Laurent was used to fighting within a system where the most dangerous element fought in the shadows with treachery and words. Damen offered such a contrast to those insidious methods, but one had to admit his physical prowess could be intimidating at times. Still Laurent trusted him implicitly. Laurent oft-times wanted nothing more than to be cared for and supported, to just let himself go. He would have to remain watchful. Despite Damen’s honor, his first love was for his people and his own country and not Laurent. But Laurent was more than willing to risk the danger.  
  
Meanwhile, there was nothing that need be done before morning. These stolen hours were to be his gift to himself and to honor an enemy turned friend, natural allies separated by a brutal world. This might be the last gift he gave and received. He dare not hope that they could forge a new beginning—unseat two adversarial kingdoms each from its own axis and form a new world. He was unable or afraid to follow that thought to any logical conclusion. Dreams were for children and harsh reality was his only legacy at the moment.  
  
If he wanted to make love with Damen—and he _was_ going to do it—he needed to keep it simple. Tonight could be all there was to be. He could not allow himself to hope for more. Descending the steep staircase from the tower, he followed the wide curving hallway lit with flickering scones at regular intervals. The near silence spoke of soldiers bloodied but victorious who had fought and won twice in one day, their full bellies and drunken slumber their paltry reward. If only the gods and fate would take justice into account for once and allow him and Damen to someday give them a more equitable form of compensation.  
  
Nearing the turn in the corridor which led to the suite of rooms he had claimed for himself earlier in the evening, he felt giddy and terrified and, notwithstanding all of the warnings he continued to give himself, heartbreakingly hopeful _._ I am going to regret this, he thought, but there is no life without pain. I am willing to pay the penalty for allowing myself to act upon youthful desire and infatuation for this one night at least. I am going to live before I die. I am willing to risk everything, if I can have had this one bright moment.

o0o0o0o0o

  _I lack,“ said Laurent, “the easy mannerisms that are usually_  
shared with,” you could see him pushing the words out, “a lover.”  
—C.S. Pacat, _Prince's Gambit._

When he reached the door to his chambers, Laurent drew close and listened for a moment. He could sense Damen’s presence or, more accurately, deduced someone moving around from barely heard small noises—the sound of someone opening a window shutter, the faintest chime of metal rings sliding against the rod suspending the bed curtain, of a chair scraping against the stone floor, and the soft tap of an object placed upon the table. He opened the door without knocking and looked upon Damen’s straight shoulders and broad back. Damen had shed his scarlet captain’s cloak, but still wore a close-fitting uniform jacket, despite the heat of the southern night, and his low tolerance for Veretian garb.  He turned carefully to face Laurent, eyes widening and the line of his jaw softening, the slight flush of his cheeks turning crimson. His entire demeanor conveyed surprise and cautious welcome, not to mention affection and concern. Fate had been cruel to present him with a perfect lover in the guise of his enemy.  
  
Laurent had always viewed Damen as an eyeful of appealing masculinity, with those full red lips parted in unconscious invitation and his dark-fringed eyes. His white under-tunic partly unlaced provided a striking contrast to the rich hue of his skin. Even when Laurent had despised him and wished him a prolonged and painful death, he recalled thinking how nature had squandered an unfair quantity of male beauty upon his rival. How little he had discerned then of the true character of this man, he winced internally at his own ignorance and bigotry. He had thought of him then as the Giant Animal, an expression he turned later into a crude joke, which Damen good-naturedly tolerated. This supposed barbarian had turned out to be as mentally sharp or sharper than the conceited Prince of Vere. He was, of course, cultured, well-read, generous, and great-hearted, a man of principle. Unfortunately, he could still be a dangerous adversary and remained the killer of Laurent’s brother. No time to be wasting tears over that. They had a few hours and he intended to give himself a gift that would have to last a lifetime.  
  
“ _I’m sorry,”_ Damen said, his eyes wide and mournful and his voice husky with poorly masked emotion _._ “ _Your servants brought me to the wrong rooms.”_  
  
“ _No, they didn’t,”_ Laurent said, hoping none of his desperate longing colored his own voice. Apparently it did not. “I asked that you be brought here.”  
  
Damen cocked his head to one side, looking confused. For such an accomplished man, he could be stunningly slow on the uptake at times. Laurent struggled and succeeded in suppressing a smirk. He allowed Damen to continue to mumble further inanities relating to the quelling of the momentary chaos, the placement of guards around Aimeric, and the gods only knew what other obvious details. Yes, dim as a weak sun on an overcast winter’s day.  
  
Finally, Laurent cut off his rambling. “ _I don’t want to talk about Aimeric. Or my uncle.”_  
  
At least Laurent would not need to exert any effort to seduce him. Damen was all but choking to have the opportunity to touch him again. When they had kissed on the battlements, the desire on both sides had been overwhelming, particularly in light of the fact that they both knew this could never be. Laurent needed to keep a tight rein on his emotions. It was a heady feeling to be so desired but, he also had learned, a false and ephemeral state. Others ran hot and turned cold with dizzying predictability. Laurent was slower to rouse but emotionally devastated if rejected, an infuriating character flaw for a king. Nonetheless, if he could control the circumstances of this single encounter, he could touch and be touched, explore and fulfill his obsessive yearning for Damen, without exposing his own vulnerability. He had already decided it would be worth the hurt.  
  
Even if by some miracle they would ever be able to form an alliance in the future, it would not be borne of some childish fantasy of comradeship based upon friendship and mutual attraction, it would be formal, precisely negotiated, and safeguarded by political necessity. He examined his conscience and could not find within himself any lingering reason to regret that he found Damianos of Akielos attractive and was going to bed him. If anything he thought he had exercised remarkable control until this point.  
  
_“You’re not yourself. I can’t let you do this_ ,” Damen whispered. Now there was a manifestation of guilt if he had ever heard one. It would be against all of Damen’s principles to take the prince of Vere without him knowing who he was. Some wicked, manipulating part of Laurent, no doubt still colored by leftover resentment, wanted to entice him. He wanted to make Damen, in this one small way, choose him over honor.  
  
“I can and will do whatever I want. You are still my slave for tonight.” It was a laughably asinine thing to say. Laurent could do only what Damen permitted, and he was sure that Damen wanted him just as badly or more. He could not take his eyes away from Damen’s mouth, his tongue running over his lower lip as though he contemplated an irresistible sweetmeat. Poor beast. This hurt might go in both directions.  
  
Damen looked at him, all wide-eyed, needy and besotted, on the verge of losing touch with the harsh reality of the duties and dangers that framed their connection. Nonetheless, he still approached Laurent with gentle consideration. He drew closer to him with the soothing, nearly tender, manner of an experienced trainer seeking to calm a skittish horse. Damen often tried to support him as well and oft times he was successful. An incongruent tangle of perceptiveness and obliviousness, he could read Laurent with an impressive emotional intelligence, while remaining unaware that he was missing some of the larger pieces of the history that made Laurent who he was.  
  
Damen dared not smile, but Laurent remembered how appealing he was when he did—dark skin setting off his white teeth and full red lips. Damen’s hands, large yet graceful, clenched and unclenched at his sides. Should he give into Laurent’s demands without question or resistance or should he take the higher road and leave without allowing this bright thing between them to blossom? Not while Laurent had any means to make it happen. He raised an eyebrow at Laurent, with a world of significance in his eyes—consent, desire, regret, and always tenderness, and much less guilt than only a few moments earlier.  
  
Recently, whenever they were alone together, Laurent, more and more often detected the pull of attraction that Damen felt. He had been half hoping, half expecting this would happen for weeks if not months. Restraining the impulse to smile, Laurent recalled their kiss on the battlements. Given half a chance, Damen would feel compelled to woo him even now. He had started to when he said, _“I wish it could have been different between us, I wish I could have behaved to you with more honor. I want you to know that you will have a friend across the border, whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens to both of us.”_  
  
Never as imaginative as he might be, perhaps it was not so strange that Damen had no idea of how intensely Laurent yearned for the same thing. Although Laurent feared he himself had less honor and more cynicism in his nature than Damen, at that moment he would have sworn that this longing for one another was the one pure thing he knew and perhaps the last. He chastised himself with the conjecture that Jord probably had felt the exact same way. Yet despite all fear and scorn, his heart beat so hard, and they were standing so close to one another, that he fancifully imagined that Damen could hear it. He felt like a backward child in comparison to Damen’s ease with his own sensuality.  
  
He could feel his cheeks growing warmer which would be a visible sign of his desire, of how weak he was before Damen. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to feel. He wanted to experience all of this as much as he had ever wanted anything in his life. But he did not want Damen to realize how much it meant to him. Laurent wished it were easier for him to express himself sexually. He wanted to trust that Damen would not rush him or demand too much of him.  
  
When he and Damen finally kissed on the battlements, the kiss had been neither harsh nor possessive, but gentle and sweet. Damen had gradually held him, tightened his arms around him waiting for him to respond, only deepening the kiss when Laurent opened his mouth to him. The experience could not have been more unlike anything he had experienced before—it felt as though everything unfolded on his own terms and nothing was demanded of him. Damen had held him firmly in his arms, radiating hope and need, but no unwelcome urgency. The way Damen kissed was neither tentative nor soft, but sweetly loving, filled with longing but never insistent. Laurent had felt himself responding in way he had not expected. And then they were interrupted!  
  
Eager to try again, Laurent only debated the logistics within his head, instead of feeling fear or guilt, or worst of all a sudden reaction of distaste. That had happened before with others when he had almost decided he wanted to go to bed with them. But earlier that evening, in Damen’s arms, he had felt a gentle loosening within his chest, arousal and warmth flooding throughout his body. Only the sudden, crude interruption by Jord had halted his unfolding want. It would have been laughable if not so frustrating. At the rate the kiss had been progressing, Laurent would have had to have exercised every modicum of restraint he possessed to have not encouraged Damen to have taken him there, backed against the wall. This would be better.  
  
If anticipation was any indication, Laurent would be able to respond as he hoped and he trusted Damen would be patient and persuasive if he encountered any slight hesitation within the context of obvious desire. Laurent could barely hold back a chuckle at the thought of how unintentionally persuasive Damen could be—those melting eyes, plush lips, that floppy mess of dark curls. Damen was breathtaking. Laurent’s nerves were on fire with anxiety and want, as though he had never had sex before, but not in an unpleasant way. The expectancy was nerve-wracking and thrilling. He wanted to pick up where that kiss had stopped. Maybe it would be a mistake, or maybe not. But he _would_ summon the courage to try. He refused to die without having had this at least once on his own terms. The thought of that big cock inside of him made Laurent clench and shiver with need. Best pay attention and quit daydreaming or he might finding himself losing complete control and begging to be fucked.  
  
He knelt over Damen on the bed and worked at the remaining ties on his tunic before pulling it over his head and tossing it to one side. Damen continued to stare at him with wide, bewildered eyes.  
  
‘Laurent,’ he stammered.  
  
_‘You take liberties,’ said Laurent. ‘I never gave you permission to call me by my name.’_  
  
_‘Your Highness,’_ answered Damen, fumbling with the words, wanting to object, while totally craving the implicit offer of sex. He still wanted to try to protect Laurent from himself. What a mother hen! Laurent resented and adored it at the same time.  
  
_‘I don’t think you want me. I think you just want me to feel this._ ’ As much as he wanted to smile, Laurent did manage to fight that impulse. It was ridiculous how much the beast wanted to fuck him and how hard he fought to allow Laurent second thoughts, one last chance to say ‘no.’ Well, there would be no second thoughts! Laurent was determined to get what he wanted.  
  
_‘Then, feel it,’ said Laurent._  
  
Everything that followed was as much in character with Damen as Laurent had thought it would be in his previous ruminations. He admittedly tensed up a few times, but Damen cosseted him, calmed him, and kissed and licked and petted him into a state of complete arousal and unthinking desire. It surpassed Laurent’s hopes, which was good, he thought. Although it did cross his mind that it would be even harder now to give Damen up than he had feared. After a second go at it, Laurent’s arse ached from the size of him and he loved the feeling of being so well-used. The giant animal lived up to his expectations and Laurent had adored of every second of it. They fell asleep tangled together, Laurent’s nose nuzzling into the curve where Damen’s neck met his shoulder. His last conscious thought was that he had made far too many embarrassing sounds, hideous little squeaks and uncontrollable moans, not to mention an endless stream of entreaties and endearments in Veretian. It was a small but significant comfort that he could tell himself that Damen might not have understood all of the more colloquial expressions.  
  
When Laurent awakened, still floating in a sensual haze, he noted a rosy dawn visible through the open window; a fresh breeze stirred the partially closed curtains on the bed. It was a perfect morning. The intoxicating scent of Damen was heart-wrenching in its appeal to Laurent.  If only. Those two words enticed him and yet held within them a world of pain and loss. If only there were a universe in which they could love one another. The possibility seemed so close that the illusion felt genuine and grim reality but a fleeting nightmare. They had drifted a little apart in the night. Laurent squirmed closer and threw an arm over Damen’s chest, nuzzling into his neck again. Damen, without waking, tightened his arm around Laurent’s waist and sighed. Laurent drifted half-awake, thinking he could sleep a little longer before he dressed and rode out to stay away from the castle until after Damen had left.  



End file.
